


Crime and Punishment

by ilien



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilien/pseuds/ilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reading Crime and Punishment was, probably, not the best thing to do in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> A promptfic, for [this](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/55530.html?thread=2445802&format=light#cmt2445802) prompt.
> 
> It was, most probably, not what the OP expected, because it's actually about the book, not the book title. Still, I really wanted to write this.

Reading Crime and Punishment was, probably, not the best thing to do in a bar. Or maybe a bar wasn’t really the best place for Crime and Punishment. But Brad wanted some fun, and Jess said they hadn’t been out for weeks, so… it was Friday night, and he was reading Dostoevsky while Jess and Brad were having their own fun, whatever it was. 

Rodion’s struggle, his ideas and terrible decisions were nothing, Sam thought with a stab of pain, compared to Sonechka’s. He couldn’t help but see some, if vague, similarities between her family and his own. He couldn’t help but think, with horror, that Dean, being always told to take care of his little brother, could have. Might have. Probably did. That thought terrified Sam to no end, and made him think once again that leaving—he would have said leaving home if he did have any home—was the best choice he’d ever made in his life. How much else would his brother sacrifice if Sam hadn’t left? And when there’s nothing left to sacrifice but Dean’s own life, wouldn’t he go that far? 

It’s his third shot, if not fourth, and his tolerance was never any good. Probably he should stop drinking. And reading.

“A-and brooding,” he heard an amused voice, “don’t forget to stop brooding.”

There was a guy in front of him, short, with dark hair and brown eyes. He didn’t look like one of the students who mostly frequented the bar. He looked as tipsy as Sam felt, and his smile somehow looked sad.

“You humans are idiots,” the guy continued, as if they’d been chatting for hours, “You always brood over the wrong things and think you face dilemmas that don’t actually exist.”

He grabbed Sam’s glass, took a sip and waved to the bartender for more. Sam was still contemplating the “you humans” part when the guy went on with his speech.

“Take this book of yours, for example. I’m not telling you Dostoevsky wasn’t right in the head, although of course he wasn't. But my point is—his point, oh God, his point! ‘Do I have the right?’ It’s not even a question! ‘Do I want that right’ is what’s worth asking! Because whenever you have the right and the ability judge, it becomes your job! And you can ditch your family, break up with your friends, get a new life—but when all is said and done you’re still judging. Because it’s your bloody nature and you cannot get away from it.” The guy finished Sam’s whiskey and grabbed the newly served glass. Sam figured it’s better not to argue with crazy. He looked rather small and harmless, after all.

The guy smirked, still with a glint of sadness. “Whatever. Forget I ever said that. No, really, forget you’ve even seen me. Just don’t let other people tell you who or what you are. It never ends well.” He drank the whole glass in one gulp, made a face and started walking towards the exit. Sam sighed with relief: the guy was probably a supernatural creature (the “humans” part was enough of a giveaway), but he was, after all, harmless.

Then the guy suddenly stopped and turned around.

“And by the way, Sammy,” he said, “you can’t save anyone from themselves. No matter how far you run.” After that he walked away without looking back.

In the morning he woke up to Jess bringing him Tylenol and a glass of water. She said he got drunk last night, and flirted with a cute short guy, even bought him a drink, but sadly, quote, “He didn’t follow us home, so you don’t get to keep him”. Sam had to admit drinking wasn’t his strongest side – he hardly even remembered the guy or what they talked about. He could only recall he had brown eyes. And said something that wasn’t important.


End file.
